


A giant leap (of faith and more)

by ChocoNut



Series: Modern JB love [51]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - The Frog Prince Fusion, And hints of more, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:48:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26645527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: When Brienne accidentally drops her ring into a pond, help arrives from unexpected quarters.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Modern JB love [51]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1557871
Comments: 27
Kudos: 97





	A giant leap (of faith and more)

“Shit, no!”

Brienne stares in dismay at the surface of the pond. Her gold ring, her most prized possession, is gone. A memory of her mother, the loss of it triggers in her an emptiness she’s certain she can’t banish anytime soon.

“Hello there!”

Dragged out of her rumination, she looks up and around the deserted spot. _Probably my imagination,_ she mutters to herself, then goes back to idly stroking the ring-mark on her finger.

“Here,” calls out the same voice again, and Brienne surveys her surroundings again, wondering if it’s someone playing a prank on her. A child, she can understand, but this was a grown man’s voice—

“Pssst,” it comes again, chilling her out of her thoughts. “Down here, Brienne—”

A scream, though she doesn’t exactly mean to, escapes her and she jumps to her feet when she finds out who her uninvited companion is. “Hi,” says the creature, blinking at her from the surface of the water.

“You’re—” her throat runs dry, and for a moment, she contemplates fleeing, but her motor functions appear to be frozen, shock, the only thing that’s running all through her. “You’re a—”

“—frog,” says the little animal, leaping onto the smooth stone beside her. “But I’m no less than you—”

“—and you can talk,” she whispers, fingers to her mouth as she cannot stop gaping.

“—I have a name, you know—”

“—and you know my name.” It had called her Brienne. She pinches herself. This has to be a dream, there can be no other possible explanation—

“Of course, I do,” it chides her in an all-knowing tone, its eyes still fixed on her. “You frequent my pond, come here to cast away your loneliness.”

“Your pond?”

“I’ve been living here for ages, so it’s my home, you know—”

“You’re nothing but a figment of my imagination.” She tears away her gaze, paces around for about a minute, then returns to the bank, expecting it to be gone—the creature, its smug voice—but to her dismay, it’s still there.

“You’re sad,” it analyzes her mood, like a fellow human would. “But I can bring back your ring.”

“Hang on—” it dawns on her, at last. “I do recollect binging on _Frog Prince_ when I was a kid, hence this—” she laughs, as if a burst of it might ward off this silliness her brain’s cooking up to deceive her. “And what would you like in return for a favour? If you expect a kiss or something—”

“Don’t worry, I expect nothing of that sort,” it says, and even its reassurance is scary. “Just keep me as a pet, that’s all I ask for.”

Brienne pinches her hand again. “I don’t like frogs.”

“I can be a friend,” it goes on in a marketing voice trying to tempt her with a bait. “I can help you loads—”

“How? I’m working part time and trying to keep up with the moving world, studying and attending interviews to—” she shuts up when she realizes she’s talking to a damn frog.

“I can research the Internet when you’re busy at work,” it offers, as if it’s been doing this every day underwater. “Just tell me what you want and—”

“You—the Internet—but that’s—” Again she trails away, the whole thing sounding more than just ridiculous in her head.

“You have a MacBook, I hope,” it croaks, hopeful and expectant. “I’m not really comfortable with Windows. Or even an iPad will do. Siri is quite user friendly.”

She can’t believe she’s having this conversation, but can’t help herself either. This is, after all, a dream. She can afford to engage it, to indulge. “Aren’t you being too snobbish for a frog?”

“Now that’s quite rude of you.” It blinks, presumably offended by her remark, then jumps back into the water. “If you’d rather not have your ring back—”

“I’ll take your offer,” she plays along, knowing she’ll wake up soon bringing this weird exchange to an end. 

“Very well, then.” _Is that a smile?_ “I’m Jaime, nice to meet you.”

“You really _do_ have a name!”

“Why can’t I when you have one?” Again the same tone of hurt. 

_Right. Anything can happen in my head. Frogs can talk, surf the Internet and have preferences in laptops and tablets. Heck, they can offer me career advice, even._

Without waiting for an answer, it disappears into the pond, and within no time, it re-emerges.

“Wow,” she gasps, taking the ring it is holding out in its long slimy tongue.

“A deal it is, wench,” it reminds her, when she washes it clean and wipes it with her handkerchief.

“Hop along then,” she concedes, packing her stuff. “You can get rid of the insects—”

“Gods, please!” it exclaims in a disgusted tone. “I prefer fish if it’s not too much of a trouble.”

+++++

“I made it,” she shouts into the empty room as soon as she shuts the door behind her. “I got the job, Jaime.” Before getting down to anything else, she makes her way to the tank she’s set up for him in the corner. 

“Congratulations,” he says when she peeps in to meet his eyes, greeting her with a _smile,_ or whatever it is his mouth is doing. “You deserve it.” 

She holds out her hand and he leaps onto it. “Thanks to you,” she gushes, looking into those prominent eyes. No one’s ever taken such interest in her. “You helped me, drilled me nightly with mock interviews—” she takes a couple of seconds, this is too much to process “—how do you know so much about our world?”

“I have a—” he stops as if he doesn’t want to reveal any further. “I know quite a lot about banking. The people who had me previously used to—”

“You’ve lived outside the pond before?” she digs in, amazed.

“A couple of times,” he croaks nonchalantly. “But none of them wanted me for long.”

While she knows she’s wandering in a dream that’s refusing to let go of her easily, she can’t help feeling a little bad for him. Feeling unwanted—she knows how badly that can hurt.

+++++ 

“How do I look?”

Brienne can’t believe she’s seeking an opinion of her pet, nevertheless, she whirls around, displaying herself and every aspect of the dress she hasn’t worn for months.

Jaime gives her an eyeful, but all he has for her is a low croak which means he’s not in favour of it.

“What’s wrong?”

“This Renly—” he leaps around the room, then returns to her, distrustful eyes poking a reproachful glare into hers “—I don’t like the sound of him.”

“You’re a—” _frog,_ she’s about to point out, but refrains from being rude. “You don’t even know him.” 

“We’ve met,” he croaks cryptically, reluctant to divulge more than that. “He’s going to break your heart.”

“How can you say that?” she steps into immediate support of her crush, and if all goes well tonight, soon-to-be boyfriend. “He’s been nothing but nice with me.”

“If you’re so sure—” Those eyelids close, then open again. “Go on, then, and I hope you have a good time,” he concedes, and when he withdraws to his tank, she can sense he’s still not in favour of her stand. “If he makes you happy…” she can hear him mumble, voice diminishing as he dives down into the water.

+++++

“I should’ve listened to you,” she mumbles, idly surfing up and down the Netflix menu, her mind refusing to settle down despite several attempts at distractions.

“These things happen,” he says soothingly, instead of going about an, _‘I told you so,’_ tirade. “Brush him away like dust on your coat and move on.”

 _Okay, a frog is giving me love advice and I’m pretty cool with it because—because I’m gonna wake up and find out that this is all one lengthy dream._ But she can’t help beginning to get the feeling that Jaime has become more than a pet to her—a friend, someone she can pour out everything in her mind to.

“How did you judge Renly this accurately?” she cannot help probing. “How did you predict it's going to end like this?”

“I told you I know him from my past,” he vaguely answers. “But you know—” he jumps closer to narrow the gap between them “—if I were your boyfriend, I wouldn’t have broken your heart like this.”

Brienne smiles; she’s somewhat stunned at how human he sounds. For a fleeting few seconds, she finds herself wishing he were— People refused to be nice to her, shunning her because of her looks, and here he is—someone who—

“I can keep you company this weekend, Brienne. We can spend time watching Netflix. Or HBO, if nothing here attracts you. I know a new show that’s just about the right thing to get you all intrigued and distracted.”

She draws her legs up on the couch and wraps her arms around them. “Really?” 

His eyes point to the remote. “Have you tried watching Game of Thrones?”

“No.”

The _smile_ is back. “Excellent. We can binge it over the weekend.”

+++++

“You’re upset,” he correctly observes when she tosses her bag away and flings herself on the bed. “And you’re drunk—more than your usual. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You tell me everything, Brienne,” he tries to wheedle her into it. “Isn’t that what friends are for—”

“This is not something you’ll understand.” Insults—this is peculiar to the so-called superior species humans claim themselves to be.

“You’ve discussed your love life with me before—”

“How can you tell this is about my love life?” _Can frogs read people's minds or something?_

“I know you, wench,” he says, back to the enigmatic tone again.

“Yeah, but—”

“Try me.”

“I was at a pub sometime back and I ran into Ron—Ronnet Connington,” she begins to narrate, a dullness flooding her chest as she’s drawn back to her past.

“Another Renly,” he muses. It is not a question.

“All my life—childhood and youth, I’ve been mocked and ridiculed for my looks,” she goes on with her tale, something she hasn’t revealed even to her best friend Sansa. “An abomination for a girl—that’s what people used to say I am—”

“No, you aren’t,” he softly croaks.

Touched, though she is, she knows this little guy’s not the _real world_. “Ron was someone I met as a match on a blind date,” she goes on, that fateful evening still nastily vivid in her head. “And do you know what he did as soon as he arrived?” She huffs a mirthless laugh and hugs a cushion to her chest. “He handed me the rose he’d brought and told me he wanted nothing to do with me—politely, of course.” The sinking sensation returns to her chest. “First him, then Renly—” 

“They’re not the end of the world,” he consoles her, and she can make out the soulful expression in his eyes.

“I’m ugly,” she blurts, reality coming out to hit her hard. “No man would ever want me—”

“That’s completely untrue,” he counters her emphatically. “You’re sweet and lovely and have a kind heart—”

“Oh, you’re too sweet.” Wishing he were a man instead of this little beast perched next to her, she picks him up and presses her lips to his forehead. “You’re—”

_Crack!_

The suddenness of the loud noise makes her drop him on the bed and leap away in fright. “This—” words, questions want to come out, but all she can do is open and close her mouth pointlessly. “You—” She tries to reconcile to the sight that this is the handsomest man she’s ever seen and not her four-legged green friend.

“Hello there,” he greets her with a disarmingly charming smile as he leaps out of the bed.

“Don’t tell me you’re a prince,” she weakly guesses, jabbing a fingernail into her hand to ascertain this is nothing but a delicious concoction of her intoxicated mind.

“I am— well, sort of,” he replies, flexing his arms, his back, his chest and _all_ of him out for her, laid out in a visual feast for her to devour. “Jaime Lannister—” he holds out a hand “—son of Tywin Lannister.”

Brienne cannot, yet, bring herself to shake his hand. “The business tycoon?” Only now she recalls reading a news piece regarding his son going missing and how many search attempts had returned unsuccessfully.

He nods, then withdraws the handshake, looking slightly disappointed at her reaction. “I once offended a witch who—”

“Okay, this is all in my head—” She looks him up and down, gazing shamelessly at his chest, his strong thigh muscles, what she finds between his legs making her sound squeaky and embarrassingly horny when she points out, “You’re naked, by the way.”

“When have frogs ever worn clothes?” he cheekily retorts, making no attempt to cover his modesty. “I’ve been naked all year, have lain on your bed like this, on your lap even—” he looks down at where she’s staring “—but you never had a problem.”

She cannot stop herself from dissolving into unbidden fantasies, cannot ignore the throbbing between her legs. “That was different but this is—” 

“Even better?” he suggests, eying her curiously as he steps closer.

She turns away. She knows she’s blushing when she pulls out a bathrobe from her wardrobe and throws it to him.

When he’s covered himself, she allows herself a glance at him again. “Your kiss—” He lets his thumb graze his brow, green eyes, warm and admiring taking on hers. “The witch told me that for the curse to be broken, it has to be someone who accepts me for who I am, cares for me and doesn’t cast me away.”

“I do, I care for you but—” Brienne drifts away, wanting this to be true, yet unable to come to terms with it.

“I’ve lived with you for a year—” he moves even closer “—I know your heart, Brienne, and you’ve known me in the darkest phase of my life. And despite what I was—” he takes her hand “—you treated me like one of your own.” 

“But—”

“I’m not Renly,” he softly assures her, and she’s taken back to how he’s comforted her whenever she was low. “I’m not Ron. You know I won’t break your heart, wench.”

 _But you’re_ _a frog,_ she means to say before she remembers he isn’t. She remembers every heartfelt conversation they’ve had, every advice he’s given her, how he’s treated her better than any human ever has.

“You kissed me.” There’s a note of seduction to his tone and something in his eyes she cannot resist. “So it’s only fair I kiss you back, unless—”

“That was different—” He’s a stranger—this man before her, but she’s known him for ages, bared her soul to him, turned to him when she needed a shoulder to cry on. Mind-boggling, though it is, Brienne finds herself falling deeper into his inviting eyes, looking forward to whatever this night might uncover. “Whereas this—” 

“Oh, trust me, Brienne, _this_ is gonna be a lot better,” he promises, his voice low and husky, the increase in pressure on her fingers sending a bunch of little tremors up her thighs.

“Now you’re being quite a show-off,” she teases, unable to resist him, “for a—”

“—handsome guy—a real man you can’t keep your eyes off?” he reads her mind, piercing her with his gaze.

For a moment, neither move nor say anything. There’s no sound in the air except the frantic hammering of her heart. As the seconds tick along, the pleasant ache in her groin begins to build up so much that she can’t overlook it anymore.

“Oh, go on,” she cries, clutching the front of his robe when she can’t stand this tension anymore. “Kiss me—”

Before she can reach over and wrap her arms around his neck, he’s already there, his lips nothing like a frog’s and everything she’s always dreamed of. Losing all her inhibitions, she moans into his touch, conceding, eager for him to get down to it all, wanting more from this—whatever _this_ is. When he deepens the kiss, she can feel the tug and urgency of his desire—heated and wild, the magnetic intensity of it, the enticing press of his body against hers telling her this isn’t going to be easy to recover from should all this end up diminishing into a trick of her mind.

But for now, this feels real. He feels real, flesh and muscle and man—every inch of him when she unties the robe and shoves it down his shoulders. She doesn’t care of what is to come, only now. And now is him. He leads her to the bed, fumbling with her shirt buttons, and they fall into a clumsy tangle, mouths still attached as they continue to devour one another, each looking to kiss the other senseless in this sexy dance of lust.

When clothes are no more a hindrance, she lets it all go and gives in to what he’s giving her. Maybe fairy tales are based on real life, after all. In all probability, this is a dream, and while she hopes it isn’t, she doesn’t want to wake up anytime soon in case it is.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the weirdest fic I've ever written. Thank you for reading and do let me know what you think


End file.
